I had no clue where her cemetery is located.

I only know it’s somewhere where all cemeteries in New York City converge  

on the border between Queens and Brooklyn.

I did not want to know.

I did not want to commit it to memory. 

I wanted to forget.

I wanted to never know it existed. I go with my father.

 

 

I left it to my dad to remember. 

He knows the cemetery by heart,

even blindfolded, he could find her grave.

 

Sometimes my dad goes alone and eats his lunch

on the ground,

next to my mother’s grave.

 

I visit to "see" my mother.

This is where she has lived my whole life.

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75-W/2 -317-REAR-2

 

Everyone in my immediate family is buried in the same cemetery

on the same aisle next to or across from each other.

 

My mother, his first wife is next to his parents (paternal grandparents) a

nd his siblings, she is across from her parents (maternal grandparents) and

his grandparents and various aunts and uncles…

Here is my family.

This was my family

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